


The Unknown Soldier

by haventacluewhatimdoing



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: 1920s, London, M/M, Pigeons, Pre-Canon, Rain, Remembrance Day, Sad with a Happy Ending, Westminster, poppies, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haventacluewhatimdoing/pseuds/haventacluewhatimdoing
Summary: The Captain goes to London to visit the unknown soldier. He meets someone along the way.
Relationships: The Captain/Lieutenant Havers (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50





	The Unknown Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to all those who didn't come back.
> 
> In particular, this is for the LGBT+ service men and women, who fought for a country who didn't fight for them.
> 
> This is set in November 1922. The unknown soldier is a grave in Westminster Abbey, of a soldier killed in WW1 whose name is unknown. It represents all those whose bodies have never been found.
> 
> I hope you like this little story I wrote. It is written on my phone so I apologise for any errors. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated.

The Captain sat on the train, a book resting in his hands, open, but he hadn't the concentration to focus on the words. The soft chugging of the train helped him to breathe slowly, stopping the emotions inside him from escaping. He was thankful for his carriage being empty, as he wasn't sure he would be able to cope with any social interaction at this point.

His luck came to an end as he heard the carriage door slide open. He was about to tell the intruder to shove off and leave him in peace until he looked up. A young man, about 19 or 20, was standing at the door, a sheepish smile on his face.  
"Excuse me, sir, but all the other carriages seem to be full. May I?" He gestured to the seat opposite the Captain. The latter coughed and tore his gaze away, realising he was staring. The Captain nodded curtly, not daring to look up.

Ten minutes past, the Captain trying (and failing) to focus on his book. The man opposite him commented,  
"The Picture of Dorian Gray?" The Captain looked up, the younger man arching an eyebrow and smiling. The Captain blushed.  
"Yes." The man ran his hand through his free-falling brown hair, longer than most men. His smile settled into a smirk, the sunlight through the window highlighting his jaw.  
"A bit scandalous, don't you think?"

They discussed literature for a while, the man opposite him was incredibly enthusiastic.  
"I apologise, I don't even know your name." The younger man bit his lip, making the Captain feel hot under the collar.  
"The Captain." The man raised an eyebrow.  
"Havers. William Havers." The Captain racked his brain, thinking of something to say, when the train stopped abruptly. The Captain fell forwards, landing right in Havers' lap. He looked up and was greeted with a smirk. The Captain coughed, blushing. His brain told him to move, but his limbs did not cooperate. He stayed there, staring at Havers, until a loud noise from outside the door startled them both.

The Captain stood up, brushing himself down, before nodding curtly at Havers and leaving the carriage with a cold,  
"Have a nice day."

As he made his way through the streets of London, the Captain's mind wandered back to the encounter on the carriage. He had always known he was... different, but it was illegal and he needed to squash it before anything bad could happen.

Westminster Abbey appeared in his eyeline. Poppies had been lain outside of it, and he stood up straight before handing his ticket to the man at the door and entering.

He walked passed many graves and memorials of greats past, but he had a one track mind and did not take any of it in. He carried on briskly until he reached the grave near the end. Taking out a poppy from his jacket pocket, he lay it down on the floor.

His father never came back from the war. He was missing, presumed dead. Four years on, the Captain had lost all hope that he would be found. Now, reading the inscription on the grave in front of him, tears started to well up in his eyes. He liked to think that it was his father, lying in Westminster Abbey. He knew that it was highly unlikely, but it was possible.

He didn't know how long he stood there. Many people walked passed him, lots also paying their respects. He was brought out of his stupor with a gentle touch to his shoulder. He looked up to come face to face with the man from the train.  
"I'm sorry," Havers whispered knowingly. The Captain nodded. Almost everyone had lost someone to the war. Fathers, sons, brothers, husbands. The Captain would have fought if he had been old enough - but he turned 18 days after the armistice.  
"Some fresh air would do you the world of good." Havers nudged him gently towards the door, the Captain happy to comply.

They stepped outside, sitting down on a bench not far away from the abbey. A particularly brave pigeon approached the young men in search of food, but Havers kicked his foot at it and it flew off.

"Did you lose anyone?" The Captain asked quietly, not wanting to pry. Havers seemed to mull over the question before replying,  
"Yes. My sweetheart." The Captain raised an eyebrow in disbelief.  
"She joined the army?"  
"Mmm. He was only 16, but wanted to get involved in the fighting." The Captain nodded in understanding. If his mother hadn't been so strict he would have signed up as...

"Sorry, he?" The Captain asked. Havers looked at him before quickly turning away.  
"Yes. We weren't overly serious, and I didn't really love him like that, but losing him felt like a bullet to my chest." Havers added, "Please don't turn me in." The Captain looked up. His voice sounded so broken, and there was a solitary tear running down his cheek. He squeezed Havers' shoulder awkwardly, before replying,  
"I would never."

The two men sat there for a long time, Havers getting up to buy sandwiches for both of them at one point. Many people walked past them, wearing poppies, but they were in their own little world. It got dark early, since it was November, and the Captain pulled his coat tighter around him.

"It's getting cold," Havers noted, but made no move to leave.  
"I should probably find a hotel," the Captain chuckled weakly. He had little money, since he had yet to find decent work and his mother worked embroidering clothes. But it was too late to get a train back now, and he would rather not sleep on a bench.  
"You could stay with me," Havers suggested. "I live a half an hour's walk from here." The Captain looked up. He couldn't deny that he was delighted at the prospect of spending more time with this man, but also mildly apprehensive.

However, he took Havers up on the offer, seeing it as the best option available to him. They walked through the bustling streets of London, people whistling for taxis, couples holding hands, widows ushering their children along. So many stories, the Captain mused. He was just another among the thousands.

The Captain didn't notice how long they'd been walking for until the hum of traffic died down and the streetlights became less frequent. He felt a drop of water on his head, and before long the light shower had turned into a full on storm. Havers grabbed his hand, making the Captain's breath hitch, and starting running, dragging him along.

They ended up at the door of an apartment after having climbed two flights of stairs, Havers reaching into his pocket for his key. They were both soaked through, as neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella. The Captain shivered as Havers opened the door, pushing it wide before gesturing for the Captain to enter.

The apartment was covered with many books, piled up on almost every surface as well as on bookshelves. He really wasn't joking when he said he was into literature, the Captain mused. A worn brown sofa was situated in the middle of the main room. The Captain studied it, wondering if it would be comfortable to sleep on. Havers walked past him, opening a door into what the Captain assumed was his bedroom.

He continued surveying the room, noting the extensive collection of Dickens on the bookshelf beside him. Havers re-entered the room, wearing black trousers and a pale shirt, and holding another pair of trousers with a khaki shirt out towards the Captain. He stared back, dumbfounded.  
"Come on, if you stay in those sodden clothes you will catch a cold." Havers smirked, thrusting the clothes at the Captain before wandering to the kitchen.  
"Tea?" The Captain managed to reply 'yes' before making his way to Havers' bathroom.

"What should I do with my clothes?" The Captain asked as he walked out of the bathroom, changed into a dry shirt and trousers. Havers seemed to blush before gesturing towards the sink. The Captain looked at him, confused, but did what he was asked of nonetheless. Havers pointed to the cup of tea on the table with one hand, holding his own with another.

"This is really very kind of you," the Captain thanked him. Havers waved him off.  
"It's nothing. Could hardly have you staying out there, could we?" They both looked out the window, where it was still raining heavily. A clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning startled them both. Loud noises reminded them of the air raids, and how they weren't even safe in their own country.

The evening flew by. The Captain watched in awe as Havers cooked, a skill he had never even thought about learning. It seemed silly that men weren't taught to cook and clean like women, he thought. Havers served beef with carrots and potatoes, and although it was rather a meagre affair, the Captain thought it one of the best meals he had ever eaten. He discovered that Havers was an English literature student at the University of Westminster, which explained the many books.

As it reached ten o'clock, Havers stood up.  
"I should probably call it a night, won't get up tomorrow otherwise," he chuckled. The Captain's face fell, but he understood. He was rather tired himself.  
"Of course. Have you got a spare blanket?" Havers looked at him, confused.  
"What on earth would you need a spare blanket for?" He asked.  
"So I can sleep on the chair," the Captain gestured to the sofa. Havers' eyes widened.  
"Oh, well, if you're sure," he sounded crestfallen, although the Captain couldn't understand why.  
"It's only... well if you wanted to... I wouldn't be opposed to sharing a bed." Havers turned red, staring at the floor. Before the Captain could debate whether it was a good idea, the rebellious part of him, the part he tried to keep locked away, replied,  
"Right, of course. That would be splendid." Havers looked up in disbelief, but the Captain was nothing but genuine.

They settled down, the Captain lying rigidly on his back. There was a rising panic in his body. He hadn't thought this through. Right next to him, on the tiny bed they were sharing, was Havers, curled in on himself like a child, the moonlight highlighting his jawline and casting shadows over his face.

He looked extraordinary.

And now the Captain knew he was in trouble. He knew that feeling, and this time he didn't seem to be able to squash it. It carried on growing rapidly inside of him, along with the panic. He started breathing faster, his heart rate picked up, and...

He stilled as Havers moved to lay his head on the Captain's chest. The latter man assumed he was asleep, until he whispered,  
"I can hear you panicking." The Captain's eyes widened. Havers opened an eye and looked up at him.  
"If you're not okay with this, I can move and sleep in the main room."  
"No, no, no need for that." The Captain responded automatically. He was shocked and slightly worried about how attached he had become to this man who he had known for a mere 12 hours.

Havers smiled dopily at him, settling his head back on the Captain's chest.  
"It's not wrong, you know," he whispered.  
"What isn't?"  
"This. Liking men. Society says it is, but it isn't." Havers curled into the Captain's side as he spoke. The Captain stuttered, making incomprehensible sounds before settling for a nod. Slowly, he raised one of his arms so he could gently card his fingers through Havers' hair. The younger man sighed, nestling further into the Captain.

"Goodnight, Havers." The Captain whispered.  
"Goodnight, love." Havers whispered back, and didn't that make the Captain feel warm inside. He fell asleep that night to pleasant dreams, for once not a bomb in sight. He dreamed of him and Havers. He dreamed of cups of tea.

He dreamed of poppies.

**Author's Note:**

> Lest we forget.


End file.
